"You gave us no letters, Ben."
Philip also turned, and the angry blood rushed into his face.
"Did you not deliver the letters I sent by you, young man?"
"Ha! ha! ha! no, by thunder, I didn't! Did you think a man was such a fool as to help put the halter round his own neck? I didn't give the letters, but I told all the lies I could to hurt you, Philip Moore. You ought to be a dead man now, by good rights. The game's not up yet. Let me tell you that!" and scowling at the party, he strode away into the night.
"He ought to be arrested—he is a dangerous fellow," said Mr. Wilde, looking after him uneasily.
"I am sorry for him," said Philip, "but that can do him no good."
"Look out for him, Philip; you can not be too wary—he will kill you if he gets a chance. Oh, how much trouble that desperate boy has given me. I can not be happy while I know he is about."
"Thar', thar', child, don't you go to getting nervous again. We'll take care of Ben. Don't you trouble your head about him."
"If you could guess what I have suffered this winter past," whispered Alice, pressing closer to her lover.
"My poor little forest-fawn," he murmured. "But we must stop talking here; eavesdroppers are gathering about. I suppose this ogre of a seminary will shut you up to-night; but where shall I see you to-morrow, and how early? I have yet to explain my absence to you and your father—and I'm eager, oh, so eager to talk of the future as well as the past."